


Here at Last Is Her Smile

by ifwallscouldspeak



Series: Ficlets for Skamofcolor's Season 1 Sanas [2]
Category: SKAM Austin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, F/F, Missing Scene, could be read as romantic or platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 13:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17407589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifwallscouldspeak/pseuds/ifwallscouldspeak
Summary: Megan focuses on taking her schoolbooks out of her bag, unsure of what else to say. For some reason, her throat feels like it's closing up. She watches as Zoya hooks her bag around her chair and gets settled into her seat. Megan drops her phone back into her pocket a bit uncertainly. Is she… supposed to start a conversation now? The girl has obviously decided to sit with her for a reason, right? She had distinctly seen that guy tug her over, and yet here's Zoya, sitting with Megan.Fuck, when did she become so socially dumb?(A "missing scene" fic, based off of the OG Skam scene where Noora saves Eva in Spanish class).





	Here at Last Is Her Smile

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for skamofcolor's Season One “Sana” Appreciation Month, for January 10th: Favorite Skam Austin S1 Zoya Ship. This takes place sometime before the Girl Squad meets for the first time together. It's based off of the OG Skam scene where Noora saves Eva in Spanish class, but with a few twists to it. 
> 
> This is maybe cheating a bit (again), because this fic is more about Megan than about Zoya. But I really wish they had interacted more, so writing them together was a lot of fun. This fic was mostly inspired by my own annoyance, lol. One of the things that bothered me about Skam Austin is how Megan's character seems so divorced from her Latinidad. So in writing this fic, I drew a lot on my own experiences as to why that might be (besides the obvious choice of... the showrunners didn't think it was worthwhile to explore this central aspect of the character's identity.) 
> 
> ALSO - fair warning, Tyler is one of my least favorite characters in this show. And even though I feel as though I wrote him pretty in-character, this story is not kind towards him. So. There's that. 
> 
> As always, all grammar, spelling and syntax errors are my own. I do not own Skam Austin. 
> 
> Title comes from The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao: 
> 
> "Here at last is her smile: burn it into your memory; you won't see it often."

+++

 

“Buenos días,” Mrs. Hawthorne chirps as Megan enters the mostly empty classroom. “Cómo estás?”

“Muy bien,” Megan mumbles around a yawn, already turning to her seat in the back of the room.

Tyler sits at their joint desks, slouching in his seat. His snapback is low on his forehead and his face is tilted down, so Megan knows he’s texting under the desk and trying to hide it. Megan tries not to sigh in resignation as she starts to walk down the row of desks.

It’s not that working with Tyler is all that difficult - Spanish is one of the few classes he's acing. He's really helping Megan’s GPA this unit, she can't lie. Unlike in her household, his parents only speak to him in Spanish, and he was raised knowing its proper grammar and syntax.

She hates to admit it, but whenever she hears his flawless accent, tinted just slightly with the Cuban influence, Megan feels a rash of envy right beneath her ribcage. It's hot and it's ugly and she hates it.

But it's a jealousy that she can shove way deep down, though.

Bury it as though it doesn't exist. 

It's his fucking attitude towards her that's a whole different monster.

She knows that he has some kind of problem with her, but she can never quite figure out what it is. Even when Marlon and Abby were together, Tyler couldn’t seem to stop his snide commentary. Somehow, it only got worse once Megan and Marlon started dating. Whenever Megan tries to bring it up, though, Marlon just shakes her off. _Tyler’s an ass, Megs. It’s just part of his charm. Don’t let him get to you._

And usually, she can shake it off. Roll her eyes at his mean comments or just turn her back on his condescension. But here, in their Spanish classroom, things are a little different. Here, his comments are always so much more pointed, so much more hurtful. Here, it wasn’t just that she wasn’t good enough; it was that her whole family wasn’t, either.

Before she can take another step, Mrs. Hawthorne calls her name. Megan turns, flicking her bangs out of her eyes to look at her teacher. Mrs. Hawthorne says something - in Spanish, of course - that Megan can barely comprehend. Something about… chairs ( _sillas_ ) and a partner ( _compañero_ ). Megan freezes, biting down on her lip. Mrs. Hawthorne’s face seems open and encouraging, but Megan knows she can read something else in the teacher’s gaze. The same kind of thinly veiled disappointment she’s used to seeing in teachers’ eyes. _You’re bright, Megan, so we’re not sure what the problem is here. Why aren’t you understanding?_

Behind her, she can hear Tyler’s voice. It’s a bit too loud and his cadence is slow, as if he were speaking to a child.

“She said, find a new seat, because you’ll have a new partner for this upcoming unit,’ Megan.”

Megan feels the heat rise to her cheeks.

“Gracias for your translation, Tyler,” Mrs. Hawthorne frowns, “but next time, please let Megan work it out on her own.”

“Are we sure that’s a good idea though?” Tyler asks. “I mean, we’ve both seen her grades -”

Megan snaps. “Why don’t you shut the hell up, Ty-”

“Megan!” Mrs. Hawthorne turns her frown towards Megan. “Language!”

Megan closes her eyes briefly, trying to drown out both Tyler’s snickers and Mrs. Hawthorne’s disapproving tone. When she opens them again, the room is starting to fill up more. Other students, trickling in from the hallways before the bell can ring. Most of them aren’t paying any attention to her, but she knows that if she doesn’t sit down soon, she’s gonna get more than a few looks for just standing around like an asshole. Mrs. Hawthorne continues to explain to everyone else that they are moving to a new unit, so to grab a new desk and a new practice speaking partner.

Megan hesitates for a moment before darting towards an empty pair of desks right by the window. There are an even number of students in this class; someone will eventually have to sit next to her and be her partner.

She throws her bag onto the floor and slouches low in the seat, trying to look like she doesn’t care that she could be someone’s last pick. She watches as friends who didn’t get to work together the previous unit grab one another excitedly. She almost lowers her eyes, hand hovering around the pocket of her hoodie to quickly text Marlon about how stupid this whole thing is. Before she can though, someone catches her eye.

It’s Zoya Ali - the Muslim girl who’s always dressed in all black, from the hijab on top of her head to whatever sneakers she’s rocking that day. She looks completely bored with everything, curling her lip up as someone jostles her to grab a seat. But when she locks eyes with Megan, she almost smirks, as if to say, _it’s Spanish class, it’s not that serious._ Megan tentatively smile back at her, straightening up slightly as the girl starts moving towards her desk.

Megan’s brief moment of hope deflates, however, when some guy tugs on the hijabi’s sleeve.

“Zoya, let’s work together,” he says, pulling her towards one of the few empty joint desk remaining.

Megan feels her body shuttering, like someone pulling venetian blinds down. She glances away, trying not to pay attention to the feeling of her heart sinking. Because what was she thinking? Of course this wouldn’t have been that easy.

Nothing comes easy.

Out of the side of her eye she can see the classroom is almost completely full now, people all settled in their pairs. She can only count a few stray students, eyes skipping over her as they go to sit with other people. Even Tyler is already sitting with someone new, their notebooks spread out across the table.  A cold sweat starts forming down her back as she realizes she might actually be the only one left without a partner.

Fuck.

Was someone absent today?

She shoves her hand into her hoodie, fingertips bumping across the edges of her phone. She bows her head, hair falling into her line of vision as she pulls the cell out of her pocket.

“Hi,” a feminine voice says as a shadow falls over the empty seat next to Megan.

Megan glances up to see Zoya looking down at her. Her face is mostly blank, but she has one eyebrow arched up. Megan watches as she slides a Spanish textbook and notebook across the desk.

“You have a partner already?” Zoya asks.

“Uh, no,” Megan says.

“Good. I’ll sit here,” she says.

“Oh,” Megan says. “Cool.”

“I’m Zoya.”

“I know,” Megan says. “I’m Megan.”

Zoya nods. “I know.”

Megan focuses on taking her schoolbooks out of her bag, unsure of what else to say. For some reason, her throat feels like it's closing up. She watches as Zoya hooks her bag around her chair and gets settled into her seat. Megan drops her phone back into her pocket a bit uncertainly. Is she… supposed to start a conversation now? The girl has obviously decided to sit with her for a reason, right? She had distinctly seen that guy tug her over, and yet here's Zoya, sitting with Megan.

Fuck, when did she become so socially _dumb_?

Megan clears her throat, about to say something, anything, so she isn’t just staring, when her eyes fall on the packet in front of Zoya. _Zoya Ali_ is written in tight letters across the top; it looks like questions are crossed out and re-written in dark green ink. Before she can think, her lips part and her tongue moves.

“Shit, did we have homework?”

Zoya’s eyes bulge. “Girl, what?”

“I thought we just had to read some passages from the book,” Megan groans. “I don’t even remember her handing anything out.”

Zoya glances up at Mrs. Hawthorne, who seems to be marking down the new unit pairs and taking attendance. Then she casually slides her packet towards Megan, so that the answers are showing.

“Here,” Zoya says. “She usually doesn’t take the homework until after class, so just copy this onto some looseleaf.”

Megan raises her eyebrows, relief and confusion flooding through her. “Really? But… why?”

Zoya smirks slightly. “We’re partners, aren’t we?”

Megan grabs her pen off of her desk and begins flipping open to a clean page in her notebook.

“This is really, really nice,” Megan says. “I really owe you.”

“We’ve all been there,” Zoya flaps her hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

Megan skims her eyes over the first question of the packet, relief flooding her as she realizes it’s all in English. As she reads the introduction, brief glimmers of memory poke at her. She vaguely recalls Mrs. Hawthorne talking about not only reading excerpts from a novel over the weekend, but having them answer questions about language usage in it. _Junot Díaz is an interesting author because he is so ingrained in his culture. Make sure you keep that in mind as you answer these questions_ -

“Megan?”

Megan slowly stills her pen on her notebook, trying to look as discreet as possibly. Casually, Zoya puts her arm on the desk, hiding the evidence of Megan copying her homework. Mrs. Hawthorne is looking at her with an odd mix of encouragement and resignation.

“Would you like to start us off in the group discussion?” Mrs. Hawthorne asks.

Megan swallows, eyes flickering to the blackboard behind Mrs. Hawthorne. In all capital letters, the board reads, _THE USE OF SPANISH IN_ _THE BRIEF WONDROUS LIFE OF OSCAR WAO_ _._

“Uhm,” Megan says. “Yeah. Yeah.”

Through the corner of her eye, she catches Zoya’s nostrils flaring slightly. She thinks she can hear Tyler’s voice, making some comment about how it’s crazy that she’s an airhead in not one, but two languages.

“Uhm,” Megan says, “I think the use of Spanish in the novel is… is interesting. Because… it invites the reader to really… be a part of the story.”

Mrs. Hawthorne frowns. “How so?”

“All of the characters switch back and forth from Spanish to English pretty… uhm… easily,” Megan says. “In a way that makes you feel like you’re in on the conversation. I think it helps draw on the theme of… community. Of not being alone, even if you feel that way.”

There’s a slight pause. Mrs. Hawthorne’s face scrunches for a moment. Then, Megan hears Tyler’s voice loud and clear.

“I don’t agree with that at all,” he says.

As if one wave, everyone turns their bodies in his direction. When Megan shifts to look at him fully, he’s already smirking back at her.

“The Spanish that they use in the book, for the most part, isn’t even proper Spanish,” he says. “So even people who do speak Spanish wouldn’t understand it. But I think Megan is also making a lot of assumptions about the audience.”

“How so?” Mrs. Hawthorne says.

“The book isn’t about community. It’s about isolation. So the rapid use of Spanish into English back into Spanish is meant to alienate the reader,” Tyler says. “Just as Oscar is alienated.”

“Megan?” Mrs. Hawthorne prompts. “A response?”

Megan presses her lips together, unsure about what to say. She stares down at her half-finished, mostly copied homework as if that will give her the answers she needs. The term _code switching_ jumps out at her, but for some reason, she can’t form the word. She balls her hands into fists on her lap and remains silent.

“Actually, the use of Spanish, especially in code switching, is meant to be a symbol for community,”  a voice says suddenly. “Not a symbol of alienation.”

Megan jumps slightly, turning her head. Zoya isn’t looking at her, but glaring at Tyler.

“Zoya, I don’t want you to respond for Megan -” Mrs. Hawthorne starts.

“I’m not responding for her,” Zoya says. “I’m agreeing with her.”

“I -”

“I’m not saying that Oscar isn’t alienated, he is,” Zoya says. “But there’s an inherent flaw in Tyler’s logic. And that’s the idea that Junot Díaz is writing for people who aren't Dominican, or even people who aren't Latino. If you know anything about his work, you’d know that representation is extremely important to him. So why would he make a book for a bunch of white kids?”

“Zoya!”

“Also, Díaz’s use of footnotes tell us more about the intended audience as well. All of the footnotes are about science fiction facts, or about history. There’s nothing in there about Spanish and nothing is translated. So what kind of audience wouldn’t need more information about this particular kind of Spanish, but might need it about _Lord of the Rings_ or something?” Zoya shrugs. “Maybe young Dominican kids like the ones that Oscar grew up around. Like Díaz himself grew up around.”

“That… certainly is… one interpretation,” Mrs. Hawthorne says, shifting her weight from one foot to another.

“I think it’s one of the only interpretations. And it’s extremely self-absorbed and pretentious to center yourself as the audience of a book by a Dominican man about a Dominican man.”

“Now, Zoya -”

“I’m Cuban,” Tyler says, glaring at Zoya.

“So?” Zoya shrugs back at him. “You’re also the one who said the characters don’t use ‘proper Spanish.’ As if that makes how they speak incorrect. It just means that you don’t understand how Spanish operates in this specific community.”

Suddenly, Megan knows exactly what to say.

“Yeah,” she clears her throat. “I think what Zoya’s saying is really important. Not all Latinos speak, uhm, Spanish the same way -”

“Yeah, some of them don’t speak it at all,” Tyler butts in.

It hurts, that pointed jab, and for a moment Megan feels like she can’t breathe.

“And some of them,” Zoya says, voice hard, “don’t even know the history of the U.S. education system punishing people for speaking their first language. Some of them are too busy being pretentious assho-“

“Zoya! Language!” Mrs. Hawthorne says. “Okay, let’s - let’s move on. Jacob, uhm -“

Megan smiles at Zoya as Mrs. Hawthorne fumbles into the next aspect of the lesson. Zoya smiles back at her, something that’s small and smug and a bit awkward, as if she’s not use to smiling at all. And Megan’s heartstrings tug a bit at that, because she knows that’s how her own smile sits on her face. Much later, she knows she’ll have to hear Tyler’s mouth about this, or about something else. And Marlon will laugh and Shay will awkwardly try to change the topic and Megan will be annoyed. But for now, for once, someone was boldly in her corner. Someone… understood.

“Thanks for that,” Megan says quietly, clearing her throat a bit.

“You were right,” Zoya says, shrugging.

Something gets caught in Megan’s throat; for a moment, the feeling that washes over her body is unrecognizable. But then she realizes it’s something akin to gratitude. A sort of warmth, where it really starts to sink into her that for the first time in a long time, she actually is fucking  _understood_. She feels _seen_. And it’s an overwhelming feeling that she doesn’t really want to think about, really. Because it’s a feeling that should be coming from Marlon, if anyone; not from a random girl in her Spanish class. The feeling is so good, too good, and so all-encompassing that she feels her lips begin to waver. Words begin slipping past her tongue and her teeth, running after that feeling before it’s gone.

“My dad used to tell me, that, you know, he didn’t teach me Spanish because of how his teachers treated my grandparents in school,” she says. “They used to call them stupid. They used to hit them, for not speaking English. They made them feel ashamed.”

Zoya is quiet for a moment. So quiet that the exhilarating feeling of being seen curdles into dread. Megan slides her eyes away from Zoya’s straightforward gaze. Her shoulders tighten, and she wishes she had just -

“Believe me, I get it,” Zoya says. “People see a girl in a hijab speaking anything other than English and they...”

Her face shutters for a moment. Megan can’t do anything but breathe in, softly.

“But, it’s fine,” Zoya says suddenly. “And anyway, I was tired of Tyler’s dumb, snide comments.”

Megan’s eyes widen in surprise. “Uhm…”

“I used to sit in the desk right in front of you,” Zoya says. “Last unit. And I could always hear him running his mouth. He’s annoying.”

Megan huffs slightly, a small laugh. “Yeah.”

“You should get better friends,” Zoya says.

Her tone is slightly harsh, but when Megan looks up, her eyes are kind. Megan’s not sure what to do with this, exactly. For a moment, Zoya reminds her of Abby. Rough around the edges, but one of the kindest people she knows.

Or, knew.

At this point.

“Right,” Megan says. “Well, I would, except...”

“Except?”

“It’s the strong body odor,” Megan says. “Makes it kind of difficult to make new friends.”

When Zoya laughs so hard she almost slips out of her chair, Megan considers it an accomplishment. She tries not to notice that Zoya’s grin only stretches wider when Megan joins in. She knows they’re going to be reprimanded any moment for not paying attention, but she can’t help it. She feels like she hasn’t laughed like this in a very, very long time.

It’s almost like she’s waking up.

 

+++


End file.
